


Happy

by toyhto



Series: The Way You Are [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Lie Low At Lupin's, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-26
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2019-07-18 00:10:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16106648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toyhto/pseuds/toyhto
Summary: He’s been at his father’s cottage in Northern Yorkshire for a month when Dumbledore sends him an owl.





	Happy

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to [The Way You Are](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16052738) and some things might make more sense if you read it first. But I think this story works alone as well.
> 
> There're mentions of past self-harm in this story.

Surely there’s a limit for how badly you can be mistaken.  
  
The glass of whiskey falls onto the floor and shatters to pieces.  
  
_Fuck._ His hands have started shaking again. He’s cold and no charm can fix it, this is the kind of coldness that comes from inside. He should go to the hospital wing and ask Poppy to fix a few broken ribs for him. When he changed back two or three hours ago, lying on his back in a cold wet ground in the forest, the first thing he thought about was that he didn’t remember it used to hurt so much. Or maybe he’s getting old.  
  
And then he remembered Sirius.  
  
They’re safe, so Dumbledore says, the kids are safe. He didn’t bite anyone. Thank _God_ he didn’t, but he can’t even focus on that.  
  
Sirius got away.  
  
He saw Sirius, he _touched_ Sirius, and now Sirius is out there, somewhere.  
  
It’s morning. It’s morning and he should go to the hospital wing and probably cancel his lessons for today.  
  
He _hugged_ Sirius and he remembers nothing of it.  
  
He tries to grab his wand to fix the broken pieces into a glass again but can’t stop his hand from shaking. There’s soft grey light of another morning coming through the window.  
  
  
**  
  
  
“Remus.”  
  
He closes his eyes.  
  
“Remus, it’s okay,” Sirius says, the one Remus remembers from 1981. He should stop conjuring the image of Sirius. But this is the Sirius he’s been talking to for last years. “Remus, stop looking so _miserable._ ”  
  
“You don’t know anything about it.”  
  
“You messed up. You told me that.”  
  
“Yeah,” he says, taking a glance at Sirius who’s sitting on his bed. He hasn’t been able to make the spell right since he saw the real Sirius in the Shrieking Shack. It’s been almost two weeks now. He can’t make himself believe _this_ is Sirius, not enough to make Sirius so real he could touch him. “It’s about you.”  
  
“Just tell me,” Sirius says in a frustrated voice. He sounds like he did when he was 21.  
  
“I thought you did something bad. But you didn’t.”  
  
“How bad?”  
  
“Very,” Remus says, feeling the corners of his mouth bend into a grimace.  
  
“Shit,” the image of Sirius says, frowning at him. “Well, you always were an idiot.”  
  
“Shut up.”  
  
“What do you want me to say? I forgive you. Obviously I forgive you, you stupid git.”  
  
“I thought you had got James and Lily killed.”  
  
“What?” Sirius says, blinking at him. “ _What?_ ”  
  
Two weeks ago, in the Shrieking Shack, it sank into him like a wave of freezing water. It wasn’t Sirius. It was Peter. For the last thirteen years he’s been wrong. And Sirius…  
  
He tries to stop thinking about Sirius in Azkaban but the image he conjured is already gone.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he says to an empty room. “I’m _sorry._ ”  
  
  
**  
  
  
If only he could talk to Sirius. But every time he asks, Dumbledore tells him there’s no way to find out where Sirius is hiding. It’s a question of safety. Remus should just wait patiently for Sirius to be able to come back. Remus walks back to his tiny bedroom with hasty steps. _Surely_ there’s a way. There’s a way for everything.  
  
Also, he’s been waiting for thirteen years.  
  
He was fucking _21_ when he lost Sirius.  
  
Sirius in his memories is barely an adult, unlike the thin weary man in the Shrieking Shack.  
  
And for how long exactly does Dumbledore think Remus is going to wait? Weeks? Months? _Years?_ Another thirteen years, perhaps?  
  
But it turns out that if there’s a way to find Sirius, he can’t figure it out. He tries, though. He sits in the library through the night, which is alright because he hasn’t been sleeping too well anyway. He tries every spell he can find both nothing works. Sirius doesn’t want to be found and he’s doing it well enough that Remus can’t do anything but wait.  
  
One night, he’s so angry that he conjures the image of Sirius and tries to hit him, but he can’t keep the spell up and hits his fist into the stone wall. He fixes his hand himself but can’t make it stop hurting.  
  
It’s just great, isn’t it? Sirius is out there somewhere and doesn’t want Remus to find him.  
  
At least it’s summer already. As soon as he finds a place to live in, he’s going to leave Hogwarts. And then there’s going to be nothing to keep him from thinking about Sirius.  
  
  
**  
  
  
Of course some of it could be true.  
  
Perhaps Sirius really stopped loving him. That’s actually probable. Sirius stopped loving him and that’s why things grew odd in between the two of them and that’s why he believed when Dumbledore told him what Sirius had done.  
  
How is it even possible that he fucking _believed_ that?  
  
But the rest of what he thought might be true. Maybe Sirius never loved him. Maybe that’s why Sirius doesn’t let him come after himself, not even when the summer ends and the autumn comes and he’s living in a tiny flat in London. He has a part-time job in Knockturn Alley, in a bookshop that sells books no one should be allowed to read. The owner probably knows what he is but doesn’t care. Sometimes he feels oddly comfortable.  
  
But the winter comes and he’s heard nothing of Sirius.  
  
At nights, he sits in a chair beside the window that freezes whenever it gets cold outside. There’s always something creaking in the flat, maybe hints of old magic that’s stuck in the building. Sometimes Remus thinks he can hear the corners sighing. But it could be just the wind. And he keeps staring through the window, at the rooftops that get covered in snow in the coldest nights. He’s drinking too much but there’s no one to notice so it doesn’t really count.  
  
He should’ve left with Sirius that one night.  
  
He should have.  
  
If it hadn’t been full moon, perhaps he would have.  
  
One night, he goes to a pub and then leaves with a Muggle man who doesn’t look like Sirius at all, well, maybe a little in the eyes. But just a little. He tries to keep his eyes open through it but he’s too drunk for that, his head is getting hazy and he didn’t believe it was possible to miss Sirius more but it is, it _is_ , now that he knows Sirius is there somewhere and just doesn’t want to see him… His eyelids weight too much. His knees are pushed onto the mattress, the man is lying under him, both hands holding him by his waist, guiding him as he lowers himself down, down down down, and it could be Sirius inside of him, it could be, and _fuck_ it would be awkward, after all this time, after thirteen years, and of course there’s no reason to think that Sirius would still want this, not at all. Not at all.  
  
He opens his eyes only when he’s already come. The light in the room is wrong. The man lying underneath him, grabbing his hips and pushing inside him, is wrong. He is wrong.  
  
He walks all the way home even though it’s a cold night and he doesn’t have a proper coat. Maybe it’s for the best that he can’t find Sirius, because when they meet again, Sirius is going to find out that everything in Remus is wrong.  
  
  
**  
  
  
He should probably get on with his life. He should be happy that Sirius didn’t do it and finally got out of Azkaban. That’s it. He should focus on the fucking war that’s surely coming again, even though the thought of that is bad enough that once he throws up on the kitchen floor, thinking about what they went through the last time. Yeah, he should worry about the war. He should figure out what the hell he’s going to do this time.  
  
He should stop aching for the thought of Sirius coming to him, holding his face between his hands and kissing him.  
  
He should stop aching for the thought of Sirius hitting him on the face and then pressing him down against the mattress and fucking him.  
  
He should stop aching for the thought of Sirius swearing that he never stopped loving him.  
  
  
**  
  
  
He’s been at his father’s cottage in Northern Yorkshire for a month when Dumbledore sends him an owl.  
  
_I’m going to send him to lie low at your place._  
  
Fuck. Fucking hell. Fucking -  
  
He tries to clean the house but can’t figure out what to do. There’s dust everywhere. There’re piles of books he’s been bringing here for at least five years now. There’re clothes on the floor and tea mugs under the bed. And where’s Sirius going to sleep, anyway? There’s no spare bed. Remus is going to have to take the sofa. That’ll be fine. Surely that’ll be fine. He’s going to lie there and know that a few feet away, on the other side of the wall, Sirius is sleeping in his bed.  
  
He should at least wash the sheets.  
  
He tries but begins drinking instead. He’s going to have plenty of time to sober up before Sirius comes.  
  
But then there’s a knock on the door.  
  
  
**  
  
  
He doesn’t have a clue what to say. He made Sirius tea but Sirius isn’t drinking it. They’re sitting in the living room, he on a wobbling chair and Sirius on the sofa. Every time the chair creaks, Sirius flinches. And Sirius keeps glancing around, as if looking for something, and Remus wants to grab his shoulders and make him look him in the eyes.  
  
No. _No._ He’s not going to do that. He’s going to say something that makes sense, perhaps ask how Sirius has been.  
  
“Sirius,” he says, and it sticks on his tongue so he has to clear his throat. “Sirius, how’ve you…”  
  
Sirius’ eyes are still the same.  
  
“I’m drunk,” Remus says and bites his lip. “I drank a little. I thought you wouldn’t be here so soon. That’s why I’m…  I don’t know what to say.”  
  
“You drank because I was coming,” Sirius says, slowly, as if it doesn’t make sense. It really doesn’t.  
  
“No. Yeah. I’m a little nervous.”  
  
“Nervous –“  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Remus,” Sirius says and takes a deep breath. “Remus, I…”  
  
Remus waits. After a few seconds, Sirius closes his eyes. “You could drink your tea.”  
  
“Sorry,” Sirius says, blinking. “I was going to. Remus –“  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
Sirius looks past him. He glances over his shoulder. There’s nothing there, only an open doorway to the bedroom. “You aren’t… there’s no one else here.”  
  
“No.” He should ask if Sirius wants to take a bath. It must’ve been ages since Sirius has had one. And the pullover Sirius is wearing is too big and it has a hole on the left elbow.  
  
“You live alone.”  
  
The Sirius he remembers would’ve never worn his clothes. But maybe this Sirius… “What?”  
  
Sirius just stares at the cup of tea in his hands. For a second Remus thinks he’s going to laugh aloud but it gets stuck on his mouth.  
  
“You’re wondering if I live with someone.”  
  
“I’m not…” Sirius takes a breath and frowns. “Are you?”  
  
“No.” _I thought you loved me. And then for twelve years, I was sure you didn’t. And after that I’ve been wondering…_ “It’s been thirteen years, Sirius.”  
  
Sirius flinches. _Fuck._ If he can get Sirius flinch with just words, what would happen if he walked to Sirius and grabbed his shoulders and pulled his onto his feet and -  
  
He feels a bit sick.  
  
“I don’t have anyone,” he says. “I’ve been thinking a lot about you.”  
  
Sirius just stares at him.  
  
“Does it feel like thirteen years? For you?”  
  
“I don’t know.”  
  
“Okay. Maybe we should just… you could take a bath or…”  
  
“It doesn’t,” Sirius says, “it doesn’t feel like thirteen years. I don’t know what it’s supposed to feel like but… we were supposed to go for a walk.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“The last day I remember,” Sirius says, staring at him as if hoping he’d say it actually happened, “we were supposed to go for a walk. Together. Because we were…”  
  
“Yeah,” he says, a bit out of breath.  
  
“But we didn’t. Something happened.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Thirteen years -,” Sirius says slowly, “- happened.”  
  
_I still love you_ , Remus thinks. _I never stopped loving you._ “I’ll make you a bath,” he says and stands up.  
  
Later, he watches as Sirius slowly takes off his clothes and climbs to the bathtub. Sirius doesn’t seem to mind him lingering. He sits down on the floor that is nicely steady and cold and leans the back of his head against the wall, and Sirius sits frozen in the warm water, fingers wrapped around the edges of the tub, eyes on Remus.  
  
“How long can I…”  
  
“As long as you want.”  
  
Sirius blinks. “I meant…”  
  
“With me,” Remus says in a hoarse voice. He really sounds drunk. “You can stay with me as long as you want.”  
  
  
**  
  
  
“What’re you doing?”  
  
He’s standing beside the sofa. “What?”  
  
“You are…” Sirius says from the bedroom doorway. “You told me to sleep here.”  
  
“In the bed. Yeah. I’m just going to…”  
  
“Remus,” Sirius says in a tight voice, “do you really need to… are you going to sleep on the sofa?”  
  
Remus has his fingers on his zipper. He’s going to undress and then lie down on the sofa and sleep if he can, or listen to Sirius’ breathing coming through an open door, which is more likely. In the morning, he’s going to have a headache but at least he’ll be sober. Maybe then this will be easier. “Yeah.”  
  
“But can’t you… can’t we…”  
  
He stares at Sirius. “The sofa is alright. I’ll be fine. You should take the bed.”  
  
Sirius doesn’t look happy. “Before… you wouldn’t have slept on the sofa.”  
  
Sirius’ hair is still wet from the bath. The tea has grown cold on the kitchen table. Tomorrow, Remus is going to get him eat something. Now all he wants to is to push his fingers into Sirius’ hair and run them through, and pull Sirius’ shirt up to his shoulders and press his palms onto the warm skin. He wants to…  
  
He clears his throat. “Can I sleep in the bed, then?”  
  
Sirius nods.  
  
“With you?”  
  
Sirius nods again.  
  
“Okay,” Remus says, pulls his jeans down and kicks them under the sofa. “ _Okay_. I’ll just… I should probably tell you that I don’t sleep much.”  
  
“I don’t care.”  
  
“Okay.” He follows Sirius to the bedroom. It feels oddly small now. He can hear Sirius breathing. It seems difficult to get to the bed, but finally he just picks a side and lays down. Sirius settles beside him. The bed creaks.  
  
“Remus?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“You used to snore.”  
  
He closes his eyes. “So you said.”  
  
“It was nice. I knew you were there.”  
  
“I’m right here. And I don’t know if I still snore.”  
  
“No one’s told you…”  
  
“I don’t sleep with people. I mean, I don’t sleep in the same bed with anyone.”  
  
Sirius is quiet for a long while and then shifts. “I can’t believe I missed thirteen years.”  
  
  
**  
  
  
The light outside the window is turning grey. Remus climbs off the bed as carefully as he can but it creaks anyway, and so creaks the floor. He freezes for a second but Sirius is still asleep, turned onto his left side, black hair a mess around his head, his right hand hanging over the edge of the mattress, slightly curled fingers reaching for the floor. Sirius looks younger like this. But not young like the Sirius in Remus’ memories.  
  
He goes to the bathroom. After, he leans close to the mirror over the sink and traces the years on his face. But he can’t really see them. They’ve grown into him.  
  
Maybe Sirius is searching for the Remus in the end of October 1981. Maybe Sirius is looking at his face and trying to see the boy he was and can’t find him there.  
  
Remus surely is trying.  
  
He washes his face with water too cold and goes back to the bedroom. Sirius is still asleep. Thank God Sirius came to him. He leans his shoulder to the doorframe and watches as Sirius’ eyelids waver. And he can hear Sirius breathing, and it’s real, all of this is real, and he’s going to fucking hold onto it as long as he can. He’s not going to let this slip away like the Sirius of his memories.  
  
He goes back to the bed and slowly lies down beside Sirius. Sirius’ back is _right there_ , a few inches away from him. He could easily… he could just…  
  
But he doesn’t.  
  
He stays in place and looks at the back of Sirius’ head until his eyelids grow heavy.  
  
  
**  
  
  
Now it must be morning already. There’s soft grey light everywhere in the room, on the floor, on the bed, on his arms. He blinks. He should get up and go make tea, and find something to eat for both of them.  
  
“Remus?”  
  
He bites his lip. “Sirius.”  
  
Sirius breathes out. “ _God_. For a second I wasn’t sure…”  
  
“I’m here.”  
  
“It’s just… sometimes I hear your voice, but you aren’t actually…”  
  
Remus takes a deep breath and then places his hand on Sirius’ shoulder. It’s odd. He can feel the bones under the worn fabric. And for thirteen years every time he touched someone he imagined they were Sirius, and now this is actually Sirius and everything is out of place. He keeps his hand steady.  
  
“Remus –“  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
He lets his thumb trace circles on Sirius’ shoulder blade. “Yeah. It’s not like I wouldn’t…”  
  
“You what?”  
  
“It’s not like I wouldn’t want to, you know. Touch you.”  
  
“ _Fuck_ ,” Sirius says under his breath and turns onto his back. His eyes go back and forth on Remus’ face as if looking for something. Remus brushes his fingers along Sirius’ arm but doesn’t go under the blanket, of course not, the cottage is always cold in the morning. Sirius should keep the blanket. Then Sirius’ eyes stop on Remus’ mouth for a second and he licks his lips before he can stop himself. “Really?” Sirius says in a quiet voice that doesn’t sound much alike to the Sirius Remus knew. “But I’m not… I used to be so…”  
  
“It’s alright.”  
  
“I’m not. I’m not alright.”  
  
“I don’t care,” Remus says, slowly raises his hand and caresses Sirius’ hair. His fingers get stuck in it. “When I tell you what I… if you want to know what I’ve been doing since you’ve been away. I haven’t been exactly alright.”  
  
Sirius stares at him.  
  
“But you don’t have to hear about it if you don’t want to.”  
  
“I want to,” Sirius says, “it’s just… it’s a blur. I can’t believe you’ve lived thirteen years without…”  
  
Remus waits.  
  
“Without me.”  
  
“Well, it was shit.” He probably means it as a joke but there’s not even a hint of a smile on Sirius’ mouth. He can’t make himself smile either. He just wants to stay in this bed, his fingers entangled in Sirius’ hair, Sirius lying so close to him that there’s no way to forget for a second that Sirius came back. “I’m going to make you tea,” he says and gets up.  
  
Sirius follows him to the kitchen. He’s already put the kettle on and is standing beside the kitchen table, watching his hands grabbing the edge of the counter. He has scars on the back of his hands as well. And freckles. Scars and freckles, all around. It’s been a long time since he’s been actually worried about his looks. Sirius sits on the chair by the table clumsily as if not remembering exactly how to do it, and Remus pushes his hands into his pockets.  
  
“You’re going to have to eat something. You didn’t eat anything yesterday.”  
  
“Yeah. It was… I couldn’t. It was a bit too much, seeing you again.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“In a good way.”  
  
He glances at Sirius. Sirius is wearing one of his old t-shirts. It should be too small for Sirius but it isn’t. “Yeah?”  
  
Sirius nods.  
  
“I tried to come to you,” Remus says, fixing his eyes on the kettle. “After that night in the Shrieking Shack. I tried to find you. But I couldn’t. I tried every spell but…”  
  
“I usually put the dog on,” Sirius says, and he can feel Sirius’ eyes moving on his skin. “And of course I tried to, well, not be found.”  
  
He’s clenched his fists. He opens them.  
  
“Not by you,” Sirius says, “of course I’d have wanted you to find me. But I meant, the others. Because I’m not going back there.”  
  
“Of course not.”  
  
“I thought about coming to you. To Hogwarts. But they could’ve caught me so easily. And then I started thinking that maybe you wouldn’t… because it’s been a long time, Remus. For you, it’s been a long time.”  
  
“I would’ve wanted to see you.” The tea is ready. He pours it into two cups and passes one to Sirius. Their fingers don’t touch. “God, I would’ve come with you. Hiding. If I hadn’t…”  
  
“Really?” Sirius says and takes a sip of his tea. “You fucking idiot.”  
  
Remus almost laughs.  
  
“I slept in caves,” Sirius says, “as a dog.”  
  
He glances at Sirius and then goes back to staring at this cup of his tea. His hands are trembling but not much. And his headache is milder than he thought it would be.  
  
“It wasn’t too bad. At least I was out. At least I could go anywhere, I mean, not _anywhere_ , but… somewhere. And my head is easier to deal with when I put the dog on. It kind of softens everything.”  
  
“Good.”  
  
“Yeah. It was. So, are you going to give me something to eat?”  
  
Remus flinches. “Yeah. Sorry. Sorry, I just…”  
  
“You used to do that,” Sirius says, watching him as he opens the cupboard doors and tries to figure out where all the food is, “you used to panic when I asked about something you thought you should’ve done already. Like you thought I was going to get mad at you. But you don’t really, do you? Because I wouldn’t.”  
  
“I don’t know.” He finds bread that smells eatable.  
  
“I didn’t do it, Remus,” Sirius says in a steady voice that goes through Remus’ skin and bones. “What you thought I did, I didn’t do it.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“But I messed up anyway.”  
  
“We messed up.” He passes Sirius the bread and a jar of marmalade. “Sirius, I’m so sorry I –“  
  
“You’ve hated me all this time. And you’re good at hating people.”  
  
Remus bites his lip.  
  
“You _are._ You have such a good memory. You can remember every little thing they did to you. Every little thing I did to you.”  
  
”I’ve known for a year you didn’t do it.” He sits down on the chair, facing Sirius. There’s marmalade stuck in the corner of Sirius’ mouth. “And it never made sense. But I just had to…”  
  
_Fuck._ He can’t say that.  
  
Sirius stares at him. “You had to what?”  
  
“I had to think,” he says and swallows, and swallows, fucking hell, “that you never loved me.”  
  
Sirius blinks. _Fuck._ Now Sirius is going to say that actually, _actually_ , and it’s going to be almost as bad as it was before, and now Sirius is going to see his face when he realises he’s been wrong _again_ , he’s let himself start believing that maybe Sirius loved him after all.  
  
“You fucking git,” Sirius says in a tired voice. “Of course I love you.”  
  
Remus’ ears ring. “What?”  
  
Sirius frowns and then turns to stare through the window. “I meant… I keep forgetting that it’s not… that the time has passed. And maybe you have… of course you have…”  
  
“I still love you.”  
  
Sirius looks back at him, his mouth half-ajar and his eyes dark and desperate and more than a bit lost. “What?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“You can’t. You thought I –“  
  
“I never stopped loving you. But I hated you a lot. It was bad. I was… I did stupid things.”  
  
“Like what?”  
  
_Like I conjured an image of you with a forbidden spell and hit you on the face._ He shakes his head. _And fucked you._  
  
“It’s alright,” Sirius says slowly, “you don’t need to tell me. I’m sure I would’ve done stupid things, too. Probably they would’ve been more stupid than what you did.”  
  
“I don’t think so.”  
  
“You never had imagination,” Sirius says, almost smiling.  
  
_God._  
  
“What’re we going to do now? Now that I’m here?”  
  
“You should finish your tea,” Remus says.  
  
“ _Remus._ ”  
  
“We could, I don’t know. We could cut your hair.”  
  
Sirius blinks at him.  
  
“I could cut your hair.”  
  
“You tosser,” Sirius says, “you always wanted to do that. You thought I was too handsome with it.”  
  
“No,” Remus says and drinks a bit more tea, “I just liked having my fingers in your hair.”  
  
Something shifts on Sirius’ face until finally Sirius grins at him.  
  
  
**  
  
  
“I should take my shirt off,” Sirius says and begins pulling it up.  
  
“It’s cold.”  
  
“Then do the charm.”  
  
“I don’t remember – oh, fucking hell.”  
  
“What?” Sirius glances at him, throws the t-shirt onto the floor and starts pushing his trousers down. “I’ll take these off as well.”  
  
“Sirius –“ _Shit._ He’s standing in the bathroom with scissors in one hand and a cup of tea in the other and there’s not enough place for Sirius to undress here, and it’s completely unnecessary, and it’s morning and both of them are sober.  
  
“It itches. The hair. If gets under your clothes when you cut it.”  
  
“Yeah,” he says in an oddly hoarse voice, “I know. Just… sit down.”  
  
Sirius sits down on the chair they’ve dragged to the bathroom. His eyes reflecting on the mirror look nervous. “Don’t cut it too short.”  
  
“Really?” Remus says, setting the cup of tea aside and placing his hand on Sirius’ shoulder. “You think I’d do that?”  
  
“Maybe. Your taste with haircuts –“  
  
“Shut up.” He pushes his fingers into Sirius’ hair and then wets it with a charm. But a charm won’t make it untangle so he has to find a comb and do it by hand. Sirius closes his eyes and flinches every time Remus tucks a knot. Once he tucks a bit harder. Just to see. And Sirius glances at him as if to say, _really?_ “Sorry,” he mutters.  
  
He’s finished too soon. Then he takes the scissors. It feels somehow very wrong, holding the scissors so close to Sirius’ face, but Sirius just closes his eyes again and bares his throat. Fucking hell. He runs his fingers on the warm skin and feels Sirius swallow.  
  
He shaves Sirius’ beard and cuts his hair. He doesn’t cut the hair too short, he thinks, but when he’s ready, Sirius doesn’t even seem to remember the haircut. His eyes follow Remus on the mirror and he looks like something’s frozen inside of him.  
  
“Are you cold yet?” Remus asks. He still has his palms on Sirius’ shoulders.  
  
“No,” Sirius says and shivers. “Yeah. A little. But I… can you…”  
  
“Can I what?” His fingers on Sirius’ shoulders start shaking a little. He takes a deep breath.  
  
“I don’t know,” Sirius says. “I don’t remember.”  
  
“Do you want to put your clothes on?”  
  
Sirius shakes his head.  
  
“Okay,” Remus says, running his fingers on Sirius’ chin. It feels almost soft now. “Okay, then. Do you want to go the living room?”  
  
“I don’t care.”  
  
“Bedroom?”  
  
Sirius nods.  
  
_God._  
  
They go to the bedroom. Remus stays in the doorway, watching as Sirius sits down on the bed, this thin naked man that looks both familiar and strange. Sirius has bruises on his ribs and on his thighs and there’s a mark that looks like a burn.  
  
“Sirius, what do you want me to do?”  
  
“I can’t,” Sirius says, watching him, “I can’t ask for anything, but…”  
  
“Just ask,” Remus says and swallows. “Do you want me to take my clothes off?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Okay.” He pulls his shirt off and folds it. It’s too cold for this. He can’t help shivering when he pushes his jeans down. Sirius keeps looking at him. He places his thumbs under the waistline of his pants and undresses them as well. “Like this?”  
  
“I…” Sirius says, his eyes going up and down on Remus’ body. “You look different.”  
  
“Well, it’s been..” But he bites down the rest of it. “What now?”  
  
“Can we just…” Sirius says and then lies down on the bed. Remus follows him. Surely they look like idiots, too tired-looking men covered in scars and bruises, slowly settling down on the bed, pulling the blanket on, and outside it is still the morning. The sun is shining. Sirius takes deep breaths. “You used to touch me.”  
  
Remus shifts closer and places his fingers on Sirius’ neck.  
  
“Not like that.”  
  
_God._ “Sirius, you have to tell me what –“  
  
“You’ve fucked people,” Sirius says in a quiet voice, “haven’t you? And you’ve let them fuck you.”  
  
Remus places the flat of his palm against Sirius’ face. Sirius doesn’t inch. “So, what do you want?”  
  
“Would you?”  
  
“Would I what?”  
  
“Would you fuck me?” Sirius asks and licks his lips.  
  
Remus just stares. It’d be so easy to lean closer and kiss Sirius on the mouth. “We always did it the other way round.”  
  
“Just,” Sirius says and swallows, “please.”  
  
He looks at Sirius for a while and then runs his palm down on Sirius’ chest, finally taking Sirius in his hand. But Sirius stays soft and after a while grabs his wrist and pushes it down, down, and bends his knees and lays back on the mattress, breathing in and out in a steady rhythm.  
  
He’s pretty sure they should do this differently.  
  
They should wait.  
  
But then Sirius opens his eyes and looks straight at Remus, and he can’t fucking believe that Sirius is actually here, with him, and that it’s been _thirteen years._  
  
He pushes one finger in and waits until Sirius throws a glance at him.  
  
The bed creaks.  
  
He’s cold and tired and has a headache and all he wants to do is to lie down next to Sirius and hold him so close he wouldn’t know where he ends and Sirius begins. He wants to push his nose against Sirius’ neck and breathe in Sirius’ scent, he wants to run his fingers everywhere on Sirius’ skin, he wants to get drunk and then make Sirius fuck him, not gently, and he wants to tell Sirius everything he’s done in the past thirteen years, every stupid thing, and he wants Sirius to get angry and hit him on the face and then kiss him and say that it’s alright, it’s alright, they’re going to be alright even if they aren’t now.  
  
“Remus,” Sirius says, when he has three fingers in, “Remus, come on.”  
  
“Are you sure?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“You aren’t even hard. You won’t get off.”  
  
“I don’t care,” Sirius says, fixing his eyes on Remus. “Just…”  
  
So he puts the condom on and slides in, slowly, carefully, and then starts moving when Sirius’ fingers press against the low of his back. Sirius’ breaths go out of rhythm but it can’t be out of pleasure.  
  
“Remus,” Sirius says when Remus is beginning to lose his rhythm, “ _Remus_ , you’re here.”  
  
“Yeah,” he says and bites back the moan. He’s going to come. And Sirius is going to watch him.  
  
“You’re here. With me. Don’t fucking –“  
  
He pushes back harder.  
  
“Don’t fucking leave me,” Sirius says, grabbing the back of his neck and holding onto him, “don’t fucking leave me or I’ll die.”  
  
_Shit._  
  
“I’m not –“  
  
Then he comes. Sirius stares at him. He closes his eyes.  
  
  
**  
  
  
“You didn’t have to do that,” he says. He has his right arm wrapped around Sirius’ side and Sirius has his face pushed against Remus’ neck.  
  
“I didn’t do it for you.”  
  
“Are you sure?”  
  
Sirius doesn’t answer but kisses him on his neck instead.  
  
  
**  
  
  
Late in the afternoon, they get out of the bed and eat everything that there is to eat. Then they sit on the sofa for a while and, after that, go for a walk. The sun has stopped shining. It’s too cold for a summer. They walk side by side and don’t talk much. Once Sirius puts the dog on and runs a little, but after he turns back, he looks at Remus as if not remembering whether Remus is real or not.  
  
In the evening, Remus shows Sirius the glass jars in which he holds the memories. Sirius stares at the jars but doesn’t touch them, and Remus thinks for about the hundredth time that he should’ve got rid of them. He should’ve never had them in the first place.  
  
“So you could talk to me?”  
  
“Yeah, only it wasn’t really _you,_ it was…”  
  
“But it looked like me.”  
  
“Yeah. Like you when you were 21.”  
  
“You used to watch me all the time,” Sirius says, leaning closer to the jars, as if trying to see through the glass.  
  
“I know.”  
  
“What else did you do?”  
  
Remus shakes his head.  
  
“Just tell me.”  
  
“I hit you.”  
  
Sirius glances at him. “Really?”  
  
He nods.  
  
“Good.”  
  
“ _Good?_ ”  
  
“I don’t know,” Sirius says. “I don’t know anything, only that you got through.”  
  
“Yeah, but I shouldn’t have –“  
  
“Did you fuck me?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Was it good?”  
  
_Shit_. If only Sirius got angry at him and shouted at him, it would make this easier. “Yeah. Sometimes. Sirius, I’m so –“  
  
“I don’t have a fucking clue what I would’ve done,” Sirius says in an oddly steady voice. “I don’t. I can’t imagine because it didn’t go that way.”  
  
“I shouldn’t have –“  
  
“The scars. On your left thigh.”  
  
Remus takes a deep breath. “What about them?”  
  
“You cut them yourself.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“I wanted to kiss them,” Sirius says, “earlier, when we were… in the bed. After you fucked me. Oh, don’t _flinch._ ”  
  
“Sirius –“  
  
“I don’t care. I don’t care any of it. You got through.”  
  
He looks at Sirius.  
  
“But I think I want to know. Everything. But not at once.”  
  
“Just ask me.”  
  
“Okay,” Sirius says and blinks. “Okay. Were you in love with someone else?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“I won’t get angry.”  
  
“I wasn’t.”  
  
“But you fucked people.”  
  
“I was lonely.”  
  
Sirius stares at him for a few more seconds and then takes a deep breath and steps away from the box of glass jars. He watches as Sirius walks to the sofa and sits down, and then he follows. “I can’t think about it,” Sirius says after a long while. “Not right now. What could we… is there anything we can…”  
  
“I could read you a book.”  
  
He ends up reading poems. Sirius leans against the back of the sofa and keeps his eyes closed, and he keeps glancing at Sirius, so for a few times he passes a line or messes up the words. Sirius doesn’t seem to notice.  
  
  
**  
  
  
“Remus?”  
  
He turns to his side and Sirius is right there, his head on the pillow, his eyes moving on Remus’ face, looking for something. “Yeah?”  
  
“Do you ever think about what would’ve happened?”  
  
“Sirius…”  
  
“If things had gone differently. If we had found out about Peter. Or if he had, I don’t know, changed his mind. Or messed up somehow. If James and Lily hadn’t died.”  
  
“Or,” Remus says slowly, “if I had trusted you. If I hadn’t believed it when Dumbledore told me. Because I could’ve… I don’t know. I _tried_. I wanted to see you. I kept asking. But Dumbledore said you were already there, they had already taken you away, and he was so _certain_ , and my mind was… I should’ve fought for you. But I started drinking and…”  
  
Sirius raises his hand and grabs Remus’ chin, gently. “Stop that.”  
  
He started drinking and then he kept doing it, because there was nothing else, nothing else in the whole fucking world. Everyone else was celebrating. And he could still hear Dumbledore’s words echoing in his head, _he fooled all of us_ , Dumbledore’s steady calm voice that had for years told him what to do and what to believe in. And it was impossible to believe _this_ but also oddly easy, because why the hell Sirius would’ve loved him anyway.  
  
“I don’t blame you,” Sirius says, running his fingers on the side of Remus’ face, his thumb resting on Remus’ lower lip.  
  
“I wish you would.”  
  
Sirius blinks. “Okay. What do you want?”  
  
Remus takes a deep breath.  
  
“Remus –“  
  
“Maybe slap me.”  
  
“Fucking…”  
  
“Just a little,” Remus says, barely audible, “just, I’m not asking you to _hurt_ me, I just… can you… so that I can stop thinking about how I…”  
  
“You want to make it even.”  
  
“No. Yeah. I just –“  
  
Sirius slaps him in the face. He closes his eyes. It’s all gone for a few seconds, Dumbledore’s voice, his own voice, his own fucking voice asking once and once again why the hell he _believed_ what they told him about Sirius. And then Sirius is kissing him on the mouth, holding his face in between his hands, gently, carefully. He grabs Sirius’ shoulders and pulls him closer, ends up poking his knee at Sirius’ thigh but Sirius doesn’t seem to mind, the bed creaks, the floor creaks, the whole house creaks, the windows clatter in the wind, Sirius tastes like toothpaste and, underneath it, like he always did.  
  
“Sorry,” Sirius says against his mouth. “Don’t ask me to do that again.”  
  
“Okay.” He wants to, though, five minutes later when he’s on his knees and elbows, bending down to keep kissing on Sirius as Sirius drags his knee up until it brushes against Remus through the fabric, and again, and again, and he’s getting out of breath already, and it’d help, he _knows_ it, it’d help him not to think, if Sirius hit him.  
  
“You idiot,” Sirius says, pushing his hand down in between their bodies until he can reach Remus’ waist, run his fingers up and down on him, “you fucking idiot, you’re thinking about it again.”  
  
“I just… It clears my head.”  
  
Sirius kisses him and then grabs him through his pants and squeezes. “And this? Doesn’t this?”  
  
_Shit shit shit –_  
  
“Remus,” Sirius says against the corner of his mouth, “Remus, it’s alright. I’m here.”  
  
“I thought… I thought you never loved me.”  
  
“That was so stupid of you,” Sirius says, pulling Remus’ pants down to his thighs and wrapping his fingers around Remus, tight, a bit too tight, which is good. _Good._ “Remus, look at me.”  
  
He tries to.  
  
“Just look at me,” Sirius says, “I’m here. I’m going to get you off.”  
  
“You don’t have to –“  
  
“You’re going to come,” Sirius says, placing his other hand on Remus’ neck and pushing his fingers into Remus’ hair, and tucking, tucking so that Remus’ eyes stay open, “on me, I don’t know, on my stomach probably. It’ll clear your head. And then I’ll hold you. And kiss you. And you can’t forget for a fucking second that we’re together now.”  
  
“I missed you like hell.”  
  
“Yeah,” Sirius says, the both of his hands getting bossier, “yeah, I know. I’m here now.”  
  
“I can’t just forget –”  
  
“Shut up and look at me. I love you. I fucking loved you all along. Just shut up and look at me.”  
  
He looks at Sirius.  
  
“Good,” Sirius says, “good. Look at me.”  
  
Sirius’ eyes are grey, grey as they always were, and tired and more than a little sad, and fixed on Remus’ eyes as if there’s nothing else in the whole world to look at, and this is good, this is _good_ , and he can’t think about anything really because Sirius goes faster and faster and it’s so good, and also he has to keep on his knees, he can’t fall on Sirius, he has to stay like this, he has to breathe, he has to keep looking Sirius in the eyes because Sirius told him to, and because when his eyelids start slipping shut, Sirius’ grip in his hair tightens, fuck, _fuck_ , but thank God Sirius’ eyes are still the same, still the same, and he never stopped loving Remus.  
  
  
**  
  
  
He wakes up when the room is still dark. Next to him, Sirius is breathing in a steady rhythm. He could easily wrap his arm around Sirius’ waist and hold him close. Sirius wouldn’t probably even wake up.  
  
He climbs out of the bed and goes to the living room. They’re under the desk, the glass jars.  
  
Sirius wakes up only when Remus is already standing in the yard, looking at the pieces of glass and the blackened cardboard box holding them. It was surprisingly easy. Maybe he had though that the Sirius in the memories would fight him.  
  
“What the hell did you –“  
  
He shakes his head. Sirius stops beside him, so close to him that their arms brush together. This time, he’s not going to lose this. This time, he’s going to trust Sirius. This time, he’s going to fucking believe that Sirius loves him, even if it’s the most frightening thing he’s ever done.  
  
  
**  
  
  
Less than a year later, he Apparates back home from the Ministry. All of him is shaking. He tries to make a cup of tea but can’t hold his wand. And he can’t stop thinking about Sirius’ eyes, still fixed on him even when Sirius fell through the veil, fixed on him and Harry, and thank God he had to hold Harry back because otherwise he couldn’t have held himself. He’d have gone after Sirius. He would have. Because now all there is left is this empty house and his shaking hands. _A year._ They had a fucking _year._ That can’t be enough for a lifetime.  
  
He takes an empty glass jar from the shell. He used to have strawberry jam in it.  
  
The last time. The last time he woke up next to Sirius, kissed him on the shoulder and -  
  
He pulls the memory back. The glass jar glows for a second with a soft blue light and then goes back to being just a glass jar.  
  
He’s not going to do this. Not this time.  
  
He’s going to miss Sirius for the rest of his life but he’s not going to do this. He’s going to remember what he does and forget the rest of it. And he’s going to talk to Sirius and kiss Sirius and fuck Sirius and hit Sirius and love Sirius, all in his mind.  
  
He drinks whatever alcohol he has left in the house and then sleeps on the sofa, watching the ceiling, counting his heartbeat, crying until he’s too tired. And then he just waits. And waits.  
  
And waits.  
  
  
**  
  
  
But back in the summer 1995, he carries the pieces of broken glass back inside and sets the cardboard box under the desk again. He’s going to get rid of the pieces one day. Of course he is. But he can’t make himself do it now. And Sirius is running his fingers on the back of his neck. Careful warm fingers. He can’t believe Sirius came back to him. He leans against Sirius’ touch and closes his eyes.  
  
This time, he’s going to be happy.


End file.
